Hey! Let me introduce you to my new buddy, Ayed. We stumbled upon him meowing outside our shelter on the morning of October 2nd, 2024. He’s not your average feline; this cat deserves a family to call his own. His previous owners must have dashed off, leaving him behind, probably due to some chaos that unfolded last night. You see, our neighborhood took a beating, with nearly 90 souls lost and many more injured.
Read More26 th January – I opened my eyes at sunrise, weariness gnawing at my mind and soul. Yesterday’s evacuation journey had been so terrifying that I wanted to bury it deep beneath the layers of grim memories. Leaving behind the people I had lived with for more than three months weighed heavily on my heart.
Read MoreOn a chilly January 5th, within the confines of our shelter, I experienced an unexpected craving—one that transcended mere hunger. Meat, elusive and precious, beckoned to me. While I wasn’t a fervent carnivore, chicken held a special place in my heart. Its versatility—transforming into maglouba, msakhan, shawarma, or fata—made it indispensable.
Read MoreOn January 25, 2024, we endured another sleepless night. Everyone was on edge, except for the exhausted children who had succumbed to fear and weariness. I sought refuge in my hideout—a tiny storeroom beneath the stairs in the administrative building. The cramped space overflowed with people, predominantly women and children. Men stood outside, tracking the escalating actions: tank movements, relentless shelling, sniper targets, and other overwhelming incidents.
Read MoreOn January 24, 2024, we had been at the Khan Younis Training Center (KYTC) for over three months. Yesterday, the tanks laid siege to the shelter, rendering it impassable. All manner of lethal weaponry was unleashed: air jets launched fierce fire belts; tank shells rained down in a monotonous rhythm. Now, I’ve honed the skill of calculating target locations based on sound. The quad captors, with their advanced technology, terrorized those huddled within the shelter.
Read MorePrivacy is a luxury we lack in the shelter where I live now. Tents huddle together, their fragile walls mere trampoline sheets or blankets. These feeble partitions fail to block sounds or even the rhythm of breaths. Conversations seep through, uninvited guests in our shared shelter. We know our neighbors’ lives—their plans, their quarrels.
Read MoreMy heart, like the ancient stones of our land, bears the weight of untold stories. The ink of my pen dances amidst the relentless bombardment, its rhythm echoing the sway of olive groves.
Read More“At five in the evening, fighter jets roamed above our heads, their threatening cries echoing like witches: “Souls to devour today, and more in the days to come. We’ll spare neither children nor adults, nor even trees or rocks.” My heart raced, yet I clung to hope. Seated on a couch in the living room, my cousins—residents of my grandmother’s flat—hurriedly moving in and out of the kitchen, filling their stomachs before darkness descended. But I had no appetite. Two spoons of rice and stew felt like plastic in my mouth”
Read More“In this forgotten world, where innocence crumbled and resilience took root, we clung to hope. Now, our lives, like dry autumn leaves, fall down each passing moment. And as rockets continued their deadly dance, we braced for what lay ahead—our stories etched in the records of survival”
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